Unlikely Heroes: The Bandit Jorn Raveloe
by SickleYield
Summary: Second in a series about the heroes who never shake the world, because they're too busy trying to keep it from shaking them. It's not easy being a bandit chief, especially not in the infested city of Dalaran.
1. Chapter 1

Unlikely Heroes: The Bandit Jorn Raveloe

Second in a series, or at least a trilogy, of stories between WCIII and WoW. Takes a few liberties, such as the fact that it's hard to develop a character who never gets off his horse and the fact that Bandits don't generally get high enough in level to avoid Possession. So the Bandit Lord will not look exactly like the one on the screen at all times. Be warned.

This series exists because I believe in the existence of folk who are interesting, individual, and completely unimportant except in their own little corner of the universe – in fact, the antithesis of the Stereotypically Noble and Attractive For His/Her Species characters who generally populate all video games, not just Warcraft.

Chapter 1

Five-pointed leaves swirled about the narrow lane in a whirlwind of red and yellow. The trees were small and new here, and their autumn shedding barely covered the giant flagstones of one of Dalaran's broader avenues. Now weeds and wildflowers sprang up here and there amid the stone, strangely colored from the mana that had leached deep into the soil.

A small and very dirty boy scrambled from doorway to broken wall, clutching a bundle to his chest. Steam rose faintly from the grubby linen that wrapped his burden as he hurried on toward his destination.

A large hand snaked out of a doorway, seized the boy by one leg, and hoisted him unceremoniously upwards.

"You can't have it!" the boy hissed, struggling futilely as he was held upside-down above the ground. "You can't have it, it's for Mister Raveloe!"

The enforcer surveyed his catch without apparent dismay, scratching his forehead under his brown helmet. "Yeah?"

"You'll be in _big trouble _if he doesn't get this!"

"You'd better not be lying, kid," Sid the Enforcer muttered.He turned to carry the protesting child back through the tent-strewn atrium of what had once been a large hall. It lay open to the sky now, and a great many men stood or sat throughout the area. Bandits, rogues, and assassins watched Sid pass with his burden. Some glanced up and went on cleaning their gear or sharpening ugly, businesslike weapons. Some did not look up at all, because they were busy playing cards. Here and there, the mob was sprinkled with other enforcers or the odd wizard. One apprentice was even sweeping the leaves with an awkwardly-homemade broom.

Sid carried the boy all the way to the back of the atrium and dumped him at the feet of a burly man in worn armor. He sat in a cushioned chair that had probably been built for him. An ordinary seat would certainly collapse under two hundred-odd pounds of gnarly, scarred muscle.

"You got some nerve, kid," the man said mildly.

"I brought this for _you_, Mister Raveloe," the boy said. "My Mum said I should get it here before it gets cold." He thrust the bundle forward.

"Yeah? Whatcha got?" Jorn Raveloe unwrapped the proferred object carefully. He extracted a rather squashed brown lump and held it up.

"Ah hah. Tell your Mum I said thanks, kid, she's a sorceress in her own right. Now get going, before it gets dark. You know we get gargoyles through here at night."

"Sure," the boy said, and shot Sid a dark look as he ran off back toward the front entrance.

"Get on back to work, Sid," the bandit chieftain said, buffing his nails on his brown cotte. "No cookies for you. You shoulda been nicer to the widow when you were in town last week."

"Sure, Boss," Sid sighed, and turned to retreat after the child.

Jorn Raveloe bit into the cookie with every sign of enjoyment. "You want one, Blitz?"

The dark wizard Blitzen Harryranks snorted. He reclined on a large cushion just outside the tent's entrance, his staff lying near to hand.

"Have you the slightest idea how difficult it is to _grow _a beard this long at only thirty? I'm not having crumbs in it, thank you very much."

"More for me," Jorn said, reverently setting the bag of cookies on a small table on his left. _And I got no beard whatsoever. _It wouldn't grow straight anyway, with all the scar tissue on his face. He'd taken his fair share of cuts from ghouls, abominations, and the odd elemental or golem that haunted the environs of Dalaran.

"I confess your logic eludes me," the wizard said. "We could easily own that whole village. Another bandit chief would, if you didn't continue to prevent it. Yet you fail to even exact any tribute."

"It's 'cause I got a heart of gold beneath my rugged exterior," Jorn said smugly. He ate another cookie. _Good stuff. Got plenty of tarts hanging around camp, but none of 'em can cook like the Widow Eiderstaff. _

From the corner of his eye, Jorn saw the wizard roll his eyes.

"I recall to your attention the incident last week, when Birk the Assassin tried to withhold more than his share of the treasure from the last caravan you raided. Do you recall what you did?" Blitzen said.

Jorn smiled blissfully as he chewed. "Took the butt-end of his spear and made him a third leg," he said after swallowing. "Gave his whole share to Sid, too."

"I refute your claim thusly," the wizard said.

"Un huh," Jorn said. "Actually it's more 'cause of that thing you told me. With the echoes and gnomes."

"Economics," Blitzen sighed.

"Right." Jorn reluctantly rewrapped the package.He leaned back and tucked it into a pocket in the wall of his tent. _Gonna be a while before I get any more, as lousy as the grain harvest is this year._

"See, the villagers in Shandlewight got no gold, and not much of anything else. The Forsaken got plenty of gold, and lots of other stuff, too. This way I keep the goodies we get off the Undead, and I get free cookies for keeping them off the Shandlewighters. And my men spend money in Shandlewight, so the villagers can afford things like, oh, dried dates to bake with. And the shandy they keep sending, of course."

"Very astute," Blitzen said. "Though it seems rather a lot of trouble. We lost two men the last time the Undead attacked Shandlewight."

Jorn shrugged. "We lose men less than the Alliance does. And none of us is gonna live to be a hundred in Dalaran, anyhow. Besides, I like cookies."

The wizard sat up and reached for the cup of mead that stood on the flagstones beside him. "I've wondered why you don't ask one of the camp women to move in with you. Sid seems to be doing rather well with Stephanie."

"Sure," Jorn said. "But Sid hasn't got a face like a map of Lordaeron. Don't particularly want a woman who'd move in with a guy that looks like me. I get first share every time we take down a caravan, so they're generally not after my conversation, you know?" He spoke the words complacently, as one who has long accepted his lot in life. "Haven't noticed you snuggling up to anybody, either."

"_I _am a wizard," Blitz informed him loftily. "Unless one is particularly gifted, romantic entanglements tend to interfere with the practice of magic. And I am not particularly gifted, or I would be an archmage instead of languishing here in your camp."

"Poor you," Jorn said. "Languishing on a new cushion drinking honey mead."

"My policy is that if one must languish," Blitzen said, "It is best to do it with a modicum of comfort."

"Amen to that," Jorn said. "Well, see you later. I'm gonna go make sure the guards are still guarding and not playing strip poker with the girls again."

He heaved his unarmored bulk out of the chair and reached for his breastplate. His mare nickered from behind the tent as she heard the familiar creak.

_Yeah, a guy could do worse than this. Lots worse._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Most of the guards, familiar with Jorn's habits, were zealously on duty when he made his rounds at sunset. He had to confiscate one jug of shandy off Dumb Zig's party, but that was usual. Zig kept forgetting that the rest of his group couldn't hold liquor as well as he could.

It was not until he reached the guard post behind his camp, the one furthest from the entrance, that Chief Raveloe encountered any problems. The brigand Big Terl and his two best pals were indeed playing strip poker. Madge and Bambi were already down to their shifts, snuggled up to the men and giggling.

_And Terl's got his breastplate off, _Jorn thought with some annoyance_. And they built a fire. At night. In Dalaran._ He swung down from his mount in a convenient dark spot. Brown had not survived five years as Jorn's horse without learning how to stay quiet and blend in.

Jorn had not survived thirty years as a bandit without being able to do likewise. Accordingly, all five were taken completely by surprise when Jorn's hand reached out of a shadow and grabbed Terl by the throat.

A wild scramble for weapons ensued. The women, veterans of camp life in Dalaran, quietly hid behind the nearest bit of stone.

"See, if I'd been an actual Undead, you'd all be dead now," Jorn said.

Vert and Gilly froze with axes belatedly in hand, expressions of dread crossing their leathery faces. They dropped the weapons.

_Yeah, you ought to know my voice by now. _Jorn nudged Terl forward into the firelight, so they could see that Jorn had his arm twisted up behind his back.

"We was just having some fun, Boss," Terl said. His voice sounded slightly strained. He was almost as tall as Jorn. _It don't matter, though._

"I saw that," Jorn said. He kicked Terl in the back of the knee and let go of his arm just before it hit the breaking point.

"Ow! What you wanna- " the brigand started indignantly, starting to get up. Jorn swatted him with an open hand, knocking him flat.

"You just don't learn, do ya?" Jorn demanded coldly. "I ought to beat you bloody, but then I'd hafta put you on soft duty for a good two weeks. So I'm gonna tell you all one time, and you listen real close."

The other men nodded hastily. Terl muttered something. Jorn rested a foot on his back and applied pressure. He groaned.

"This city is crawling with things that want to kill us just for being alive. This is the reason why we got guards posted every single night. So the very next man I catch sitting next to a fire without a weapon had better enjoy that fire, 'cause he ain't gonna see light for a long time. This bein'on account of where I am going to shove his head. Understood?"

"Understood, Boss!" the other two chorused. Terl groaned again.

"Speak up, Terl," Jorn said mildly.

"Understood," Terl ground out. Jorn removed his foot from the brigand's back, then kicked him hard enough that Jorn calculated his ribs would be sore for some days.

"You two, get out here," he said. The women edged reluctantly out from cover.

"You wouldn't hit a girl, would you, Chief?" Bambi asked. She breathed deeply,emphasizing her primary assets.

"Lady, I would hit your old granny if I caught her distracting these clowns," Jorn said. "And it ain't no good you leaning forward, either.If I see either one of you out here again, I'm gonna have Blitz turn you into a sheep, and then you can't date nobody _but _Terl. Get me?"

"We get you," Madge said sulkily, and gathered up her dress. The two women withdrew quietly, all the same. They were angry. They weren't suicidal.

"Good," Jorn said. "Give me the cards, Vert."

The bandit obediently gathered up the pack and handed them to his chief. Raveloe tucked them into his belt pouch. He kept an eye on Terl, in case the bandit should lose his temper and require Jorn to do the same.

Gilly doused the fire. It hissed as the coals died down.All four men stood in the dark, blending with the night.

Then Jorn heard a distant sound, a hollow wail that could just conceivably come from a woman's throat.

"Chief, was that - " Vert started to whisper. Jorn cut him off with a sharp gesture.

_Not our girls. They went the other way. _The sound had come from the west, the opposite direction from the camp. Jorn padded over to where he had left his horse and mounted up. He motioned for the others to follow him. Terl, his sulks forgotten, grabbed his breastplate and javelin and hastily armed himself.

Jorn navigated silently through the maze of walls, away from the guard post. His horse's canvas-swathed hooves made little sound, and the two of them were almost invisible in the autumn night despite the gibbous moon.

_I know I heard a banshee. Not likely to forget what _that _sounds like._

As he moved forward he heard other sounds now: at least two sets of running feet, impractically shod and ringing on the flagstones. _That's no Forsaken. They go quiet, or my boys make short work of them. _He drew his short sword from its padded sheath. As he urged the horse slowly forward, he began to call up mana, coiling it around him like a rope. It was easy here in the old mage city, where mana was practically part of the stone.

_Be easy for whatever's chasing them up ahead, too, _he thought.

As the sound came closer, Jorn pulled Brown up. The two of them became completely invisible, shadowmelding effortlessly in the magic-heavy environment of Dalaran. He did not look back to see if his men were doing the same. He'd chewed them out, but the bandits were smart enough to hide when something was after them.

He did not have long to wait. A pair of Elvish priests darted around a bend a few yards away, trying to dodge around the piles of debris in the dark. One was visibly limping, and Jorn's night-ready eyes identified the blood stains on both Elves' blue robes. _Theirs, 'cause it's still red._

The lame Elf tripped on a chunk of stone and fell, grunting in pain as his knee struck the ground. The other Elf turned at the sound.

"Go on!" the first onehissed in a typical tenor.

Then the two gargoyles swooped down over the wall, claws reaching. Jorn spurred his horse forward. The two elves scrambled aside, startled at his sudden appearance.

_Lazy Forsaken. I shouldn't be able to do this, _Jorn thought as he cut a low-flying gargoyle out of the air. The other reared, screeching, and turned to grab for altitude. Terl's spear caught it under the left wing. It dropped like a stone.

Then a rending shriek came out of the dark. Jorn pressed his hands to his ears as the banshee's wail cut its way through his brain. He could see her ahead of him, shrinking to a purple sphere as she prepared to drive her way into his head and steal his mind.

Jorn pressed his knees into the horse's sides, urging her forward. The purple light flew at his face, filling his vision. Then something hit his face with the force of a dead leaf, and Jorn cut the banshee in half. A descending wail seemed to turn his skull inside out, and then she was gone.

"Beats me why that always works," he said, over the ringing in his ears. Something warm trickled out of the left one. "You'd think a ghost couldn't be cut."

No one seemed to be listening. One Elf lay flat on the ground, and the other leaned over him, gold lights glittering around his eyes and hands as he desperately tried to heal his companion.

Jorn could see it was already too late. Once you saw what dead looked like, you never forgot.

"Gilly," he said, without taking his eyes from the Elves. "Get back and get a party out here, fast as you can. Tell them to bring a stretcher. Vert and Terl, you stay sharp."

He wiped the black blood from his sword on his saddle blanket, then sheathed it. Brown snorted, but stood still.

Chief Raveloe slid from the saddle. He stood still for a second, holding the stirrup as he waited for a wave of dizziness to pass. _Lucky there was just one. Little too slow putting up my shield. _The mana had already dissipated, lost when he lost his concentration.

"You okay, Boss?" Vert's voice was asking from somewhere far off.

"Yeah, fine." He wiped a drop of blood from his nose. Jorn looked up to see the living Elf sitting slumped on the ground in the dark, lights extinguished. He stared down at his comrade with pale and unblinking eyes.

"I did not realize his wound was dire," he said. A thin, pale hand reached out to pull the other priest's robe over a deep cut in his belly. "He ran ahead so fast."

"Probably didn't know himself," Jorn said. "I've seen it where they never feel it at all."

The living Elf closed the dead one's eyes, murmuring a prayer in his own language. Then he got unsteadily to his feet, leaning on his staff. Light eyes of an uncertain color stared up at Raveloe. The pupil and iris were visible now that the magic was exhausted.

"You are not Alliance," the Elf said. "Who are you?"

Then he fainted.

"Yeah, me too," Jorn muttered, and went to pick up the unconscious Elf.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Man, horse and Elf ghosted through the front entrance to the atrium a few minutes later. The sentries recognized Brown and let them pass without a word. Jorn led the mare toward the tent with the white-painted flaps. As he approached, he heard voices from inside.

"How about 'aaaaargh?'"

"You don't get any points for it. That's not a word."

"Okay, fine. I guess that means no 'gurgle aack' either."

"Right. Doesn't count."

"Let's see… How about 'What's that smell?'"

"Wha…? What kind of last words are _those_?"

"They were _Nib's _last words. Right before the abomination got him. You ought to remember. You were there."

"Oh. Right. But that only counts for one point - "

"Lord Raveloe!"

_Can always tell the wizards from the bandits, _Jorn thought as he carried the priest into the candle-lit interior. _Bandits call me Chief, or Boss. 'S only the wizards call me Lord._

The Elf seemed to be without weight, light as a feather. Jorn bent and laid him carefully on one of the tent's cots. He straightened slowly, fighting dizziness again. _Always forget how small they are. Must be a brave folk, going to war at all. _

"Is that an Elf, Lord?" the rogue wizard Wright Berrythorn asked. The two apprentices bustled about lighting a brazier and pouring water, their game forgotten.

"Yeah. I think he's got a bum knee. Cut on his head, too. Probably from a gargoyle." The Elf's pale hair was matted with blood.

"I see." The wizard pulled up a stool and satdown to conduct a brief examination. "Yes, it looks as if he's been rather lucky. This cut isn't very deep, but you know how head wounds bleed, Lord."

"Not likely to forget," Jorn said. His own scalp was crisscrossed with scars under his brown hair.

Berrythorn flipped the hem of the priest's robe back, then peeled his leggings up to the knees. "Ah. Quite a lot of swelling here, but it feels as if it's not broken. Only time will tell if he's torn something important, I'm afraid."

The priest stirred as the wizard replaced his clothing.

"Hm. We'll clean him up, but the best thing would be if he could wake up and heal himself. He'll do better than anything we can do here. In fact…" The bearded man glanced up at Jorn. "If you could see your way clear to sitting here for a while, Lord, it would probably help. I have noticed that mana tends to rebuild faster in your presence. All of us have."

"Sure. If you could get one of your boys to bring me some water, once you've got what you need for the Elf, I'll wash some of the blood off me."

"Yes, of course. See to it, Mirtib."

The wizard got up and moved the stool to one side, out of the way. Jorn sat on it cautiously. It creaked in protest.

"Don't worry about it," Berrythorn waved a wrinkled hand. "I've been experimenting with spells of reinforcement. I think I've found a reliable one at last."

_He _thinks _he's found one, _Jorn repeated to himself silently. _He's not gonna be the one with splinters in his bum if it doesn't work._

Jorn rubbed his forehead. Something seemed to be pounding on the inside of his skull.

"Are you all right, Lord?" asked the wizard's voice. Jorn opened his eyes reluctantly, squinting. The light from the brazier and candles seemed painfully bright.

"I think so. Got hit by a banshee, but I'm too stubborn to possess."

A murmur in an Elvish language drew his attention back to the cot. The Elf was looking at him, ignoring the apprentice who was trying to clean the blood from his hair.

"You are still under the curse," the priest said. His voice seemed weaker than before. "It will go with time, but you will not fight well until it does."

"How long?" Berrythorn asked, before Jorn could.

"Not long," the Elf said.He turned his face to the wall.

"It would be easier just to cut this off," the apprentice said after a moment.

"Then cut it," the priest said, without moving. "It does not matter."

Apprentice Mirtib brought a bowl of water and some clean rags, and Jorn cleaned his face and ears. This seemed to make his headache worse. He noticed as he wiped his fingers that the priest did not seem to be trying to heal himself.

"The one who died," Jorn said. "Good friend of yours?"

"He was my teacher," the priest said. "I have known him for my entire life."

"'M sorry," Jorn said.

"Who are you?" the Elf asked abruptly. "You wear no insignia."

"Jorn Raveloe," Jorn said. "You're in my camp. We're bandits."

"Extremely proficient bandits," Berrythorn put in, watching with a critical eye as his apprentice worked. "Careful, Birt, you're not making his scalp feel any better."

"It does not matter," the Elf said again.

"So what do we call you?" Jorn asked.

The Elf twitched his narrow shoulders. "Call me Priest. I will know who you mean."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The war party returned not long after. Chief Raveloe heard them arrive, voices loud with relief.He went to the tent entrance and looked out.

Blitzen Harryranks led them through the gates, riding his long-legged brown gelding. Four skeletons came behind him with the stretcher. Eight men formed the rearguard. Jorn was pleased to see that Blitzen had chosen a mixture of axemen and javelin wielders. _Never known Blitz to be dumb when it comes to scrapping._

"Guess you found something," he said as the dark wizard reined up in front of the healer's tent.

"Rather quickly," the wizard said, dismounting with ease. "With the exception of one banshee, they were not experienced units. We approached stealthily and took them by surprise."

"So what were those?" Jorn nodded at the skeletons.

"Necromancers. The men always like to see me do that trick, and of course it meant they didn't have to carry the stretcher."

"Four in one party?"

The wizard nodded, frowning slightly. "I thought it peculiar myself. There were five ghouls also, and the banshee. Given that you killed three from the same party, it was rather a large group for reconnaissance."

"'S a good thing Blitz has that magic thing with the armor, Chief," Sid the Enforcer put in, pausing beside the wizard. "I'd 'a been minus my arm, otherwise."

"The devotion aura, yes," Blitzen said. "Er. What do you want done with the body?"

Jorn looked at the stretcher. The canvas sheet which covered the body already showed stains. "Put it in the black tent, like always. I'll ask the other one what he wants done with it."

"You heard the man," Blitzen said, without looking around. "You can take care of my horse after that."

The skeletons turned and marched on toward the tent with the flaps painted black. The men milled about the atrium, talking with those of their fellows who were still awake. More than one of the camp women was present as well, listening with admiration which might conceivably be genuine.

Jorn, surveying his troops for injured men, caught sight of Dumb Zig. He was guffawing at someone's joke, and reaching down to give a piece of dried meat to…

_I don't believe it, _Jorn thought tiredly.

"Zig! Get over here!"

"Hey, Boss," the brigand said in his wheezy bass, trotting up with his spear over his shoulder. "You okay? Gilly said one of them purple things screamed right in your ear. I know it drives me crazy when Bunny does that."

"Zig, I don't know if you noticed, but you got a ghoul following you around," Jorn said.

"Oh. Yeah. He followed me home, Chief," Zig said. "Can I keep him?"

"You gotta be kidding me," Jorn said, rubbing his head.

"He quit attacking us when all the other ones was dead," Zig said cheerily, living up to his nickname once again. "He can do tricks."

"Zig, it's a freaking ghoul," Jorn said patiently. "The only trick it knows is Kill."

"No, he does lots. He really likes the deer jerky. Look." Zig turned to the ghoul, which crouched on the ground next to his feet. "Speak!"

"Baaaaarrrrk," the ghoul said.

"Good boy." Zig gave the Undead a piece of jerky. It accepted it delicately from his fingers, then chomped vigorously.The meat disappeared down its black gullet.

"Flip," Zig went on. The ghoul edged sideways, then did a neat back flip. Its claws clicked on the flagstones as it landed. It sat up on its hind legs, waiting for another treat. "Good boy. Here's a good one, Boss. Stay!" Zig set a piece of jerky on the ground, then backed away from it. "Okay. Play dead!"

_Play dead? _Jorn thought.

The ghoul pounced on the piece of meat and began savaging it, shaking its head vigorously with the leathery morsel between its teeth.

Zig snickered. "See, Boss? It's, like, one of them iron things."

"Irony," Blitz put in from beside Jorn. He seemed to be chuckling behind his beard, Jorn noted with some irritation.

"Zig, you should never hang around with something smarter than you. Especially when it has got big teeth," Jorn said.

"He can stay outside the camp at night, Boss," Zig said. "Please? He can go find wood and pull the weeds and stuff. He's good at chopping down trees."

"Treeees," the ghoul put in helpfully.

"Hmph." Jorn glared at the Undead. It tried to look innocent. Thiswas not completely possible, given that its teeth were permanently visible due to an absence of lips. "Okay. But if it tries to bite anybody here, including the Elf, I will personally break its neck. Or whatever. Understand?" he asked the ghoul.

"Moooore meeeeeaat?" the ghoul said.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Jorn woke up the next morning without his headache. He rolled off the pallet – a necessity, since no cot would hold him - and performed his morning ablutions. The faint light that showed beneath the edge of the tent flaps told him he had risen at the same time he usually did.

_Sunrise. Looks like I get another day, _Jorn thought with satisfaction. He finished belting on his sword and grabbed a cookie on his way out of the tent.

Blitzen Harryranks stood outside the entrance, his staff in one hand and a steaming cup in the other.

"Hey Blitz, you're up kinda early," Jorn said. Blitzen handed him the cup.

"You don't have to tell _me,_" the dark wizard said irritably. "No, thanks, I've had some tea already. I discussed it with Sid and some of the others, and we decided it would be wise for you to be accompanied the next time you check the guard posts."

"What, 'cause of one banshee?" Jorn sipped the tea. It was weak, but not bad. Tea had to come a long way to get to Dalaran. He suspected this had belonged to some necromancer's stash, before they had interrupted the caravan that was moving it.

"Among other things," Blitzen said. "A few hours ago the night team of scouts found a pair of dead men to the west. Their garb was plain, and they wore no Alliance insignia."

"So you think they're from the same party as the priests?" Jorn said. "They weren't dressed Alliance, either." He frowned. "Seems odd the bodies were still there, Blitz." Corpses generally did not lie for long in Dalaran.

"My thoughts exactly," Blitzen said. "So I took Berrythorn and went out and examined them."

"Yeah?" he said, when the wizard did not seem about to continue.

"I think they died by poison, Jorn," Blitzen said. "I found a few bits of glass around the bodies. I gathered up some of the fragments, and Berrythorn is trying to figure out if there's anything on them."

Jorn mulled this over. "Died by poison," he said. "Not _were poisoned._"

"Very clever," the wizard said. "One man had bits of glass stuck in his hand. I think he crushed the vial with his fist before he died."

"Why poison?" Jorn wondered aloud. He swallowed the last bite of his cookie as he sauntered toward the front of the atrium. "Mostly the Undead don't care how you die, when it comes to getting you back up again. Unless it was something special. Something supposed to keep them from being brought back, maybe?"

"Our surveillance has uncovered no such development in the Alliance," Blitzen said, keeping pace with Jorn's long stride. "That doesn't mean it isn't happening, since we've been unable to infiltrate them. It would solve the old problem of how to prevent your spies from giving up information to the Undead."

"Problem being, they better be pretty quick with it, if there's banshees around," Jorn said. "Can't really see a way to make it work."

"Someone must have," Blitzen said.

"Un huh. I'm gonna talk to that Elf. He up yet?"

"Yes. He's been walking around the edge of the atrium. I'm having one of my apprentices who is learning to shadowmeld keep an eye on him."

"He get any breakfast?" Jorn asked.

"He won't eat. I sent some tea over."

"Good man. You want to check up the guards for me this morning?"

"Nothing would please me more," Blitzen said. His voice held a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Jorn grinned.

"Here you go." He handed the wizard his empty cup. Jorn turned and moved off toward the South side of the camp. A small figure limped along the wall there, staff in hand.

The Elf's hair hung in ragged layers now. The ends of his pointed ears stuck up through it. He seemed to be clad in an apprentice's robe, plain brown and belted at the waist. _Probably the only thing small enough to fit him. _As Jorn approached, he saw him tuck something into his belt.

_Was that glass? _Jorn thought. _Looked like glass._

"Morning, Priest," Jorn said.

"Lord Raveloe," the priest said. He turned awkwardly to face the Bandit Lord, leaning on the staff.

"The knee still hurt?" Jorn asked.

"It is healed after a fashion, but I cannot make it straight again," the priest said. His voice was low, without expression. He had the same flat, blank look he had had when he knelt beside the dead man. "I do not have my teacher's skill."

"Anything you need?" Jorn asked.

"No." The priest turned and began limping along the wall again. Jorn walked beside him. "Am I a prisoner here?" the Elf asked. He did not sound particularly curious.

"No," Jorn said. "I'll talk to my guys and make sure they let you go in and out. Dalaran's not too safe to be wandering through on your own, though. You want an escort back to your command post or whatever, I can send somebody with you."

"There is no place to which I may return," the Elf said. "My companions are all dead."

"You mean the two humans we found this morning?" Jorn said. Priest did not answer. "You're not Alliance either, are you," Jorn said.

"Why would you say that, Lord Raveloe?"

"Don't see too many Elves with them any more. Not since they tried to lock up Kael'thas and his folk and they took off. You live in Quel'thalas?"

"Nothing _lives _in Quel'thalas," Priest said.

"Un huh." Jorn walked in silence for a moment. _Worth a try. _"Priest," he said. "You got something I want."

Priest stopped and looked up at Jorn. The bones in his face were very sharp. "That which you saved is of no value to me, but the debt remains. I am not sure what I have that you would want."

"That vial in your belt," Jorn said.

The Elf looked away. "That holds only death," he said. "It is of no use to one such as you."

Jorn shrugged. His shadow fell across the Elf, but the globe that topped the staff gleamed in the rising sun.

"You could take it, of course," Priest said.

"Sure," Jorn said. He raised one eyebrow. "I'm a bandit, right? That's how I got a face with more seams than a gold mine: stealing stuff off wounded Elves half as big as me."

Priest blinked. "What?"

"You got to get over this whole, what's the word, fey thing," Jorn said. "Light as a feather, stiff as a board. What d'you think that teacher of yours would say, he saw you now?"

A strange expression crossed the Elf's narrow face. "He would say _Entrelli vareth, kur na'ein serell'heth,_" Priest said.

"Which means what?"

"It does not translate well into the Common tongue. Approximately it means, 'Stop sulking, or I will box your ears.'"

Jorn laughed.

"Here," Priest said. He handed Jorn the vial. "But please do not ask me any more questions. The answers are not mine to give."

"I get you," Jorn said. "See you later, Priest."

He stuck the vial in his belt pouch, next to Gilly's pack of cards. As he started to turn away, he saw Dumb Zig approaching with the ghoul in tow.

"Hey, Boss," Zig said. "Some guy up at the front says he wants to see you."

"How'd he find the camp?" Jorn said, turning toward the entrance to the atrium.

"Says the Shandlewighters gave him directions."

"Great," Jorn said. "Now we'll have to move again. We been in this spot too long, anyhow. Who is he?"

"Says his name is Vilbert Standwright. He's got some armor on, but it ain't no uniform, Boss."

"Too much weird stuff happening the last couple of days," Jorn said. "I don't like it."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Excuse me for asking, but is that a ghoul?" the stranger asked as Dumb Zig and Jorn approached.

"Yeah," Jorn said. "Long story. I'm Raveloe. Something I can do for you?"

"Yes. My name is Vilbert Standwright, and I'm with the Alliance's Military Police." The man wore a soft hat which threw a shadow over his eyes, but it did not really hide his face.

"Didn't know the Alliance had MP's," Jorn said, looking the man over. He was nondescript, pleasant-looking in a bland way. _Not like any Alliance anything I ever saw._

"Someone's got to keep the farm boys in line," Standwright said with a shrug. "We don't wear the uniform, since we spend so much time out here where bright colors can kill you."

"Sure," Jorn said. "So what you want with us bandits, Mister Standwright?"

"I understand you may have come across one of our deserters," Standwright said. Jorn watched Zig and the ghoul from the corner of his eye. The ghoul seemed to have edged behind Zig, peering around his leg with its milk-white eyes.

"Deserters?" Jorn said.

"_What's the matter, boy?_" Zig said, in what he probably thought was a whisper.

"Yes. Two of our Elvish priests decided they'd had enough and legged it last night. The remaining High Elves have been increasingly restless since the Prince fled to Draenor. We don't trust them far, but these managed to club one of our sentries and - "

"Baaaaaa," the ghoul said.

"What?" said Standwright, blinking.

"Oh, sorry," Zig said. "I been trying to teach him some animal noises 'cause Bunny thinks it's cute. He does a pretty good duck. Do a duck, Izzy!"

"Baaaaaaan," the ghoul said.

"Naw, that ain't it. C'mon, say _quack._"

"Baaaans…"

"Go back to work, Zig," Jorn said. "Send Norry and Sid over here, will you?"

"Yeah, sure, Chief." Zig moved off toward his post, followed closely by the ghoul. It kept looking over its shoulder.

"Zig ain't exactly all there," Jorn explained. "So you think our Elf is one of your deserters? He got scratched up pretty bad by some Undeads."

"Really? Have you kept a close eye on him?" Standwright asked with concern. "He could have been possessed. I've heard there's almost no way to tell."

"Yeah, it's pretty convincing," Jorn said.

"Oh, so you've seen a possession?"

"Un huh." Jorn glanced around unobtrusively. The priest seemed to be out of sight. There was no sign of Blitzen, who was undoubtedly still inspecting guard posts. Sid and the assassin Norry were on their way over, moving casually.

"Look, you wanna come into the camp, you gotta leave your weapons up here," Jorn said. "Those are the rules. Or you can stay here, and I can send somebody to go get the Elf."

The other man's hand moved unconsciously to the short sword strapped to his thigh. The movement pulled at his belt. Jorn, looking closely, saw what he was looking for.

"I'll be glad to wait," Standwright said. "He's not going to be sneaking out the back _here._"

"Nope," Jorn said. "We pretty well blocked up the gaps in the walls, and he's got a bum leg. Something wrong?"

Standwright seemed to be staring over Jorn's shoulder. Or rather, he stared past it, since he was much shorter than the bandit chief. Jorn heard the staff tapping the flagstones behind him. Priest's halting footsteps were quieter now, since he had traded his ridiculous shoes for a pair of soft leather ones.

"Major Standwright? I had thought you were dead," Priest said.

"Not for lack of trying," Standwright said. His smile was open, friendly, and genuine, and Jorn was rather surprised when he drew his sword and lunged for the Elf.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The later consensus, in informal discussions throughout the camp, was that Standwright counted on the element of surprise. Whenever anyone brought this up, someone else generally snickered. Jorn Raveloe was bigger than anyone in camp. Hehad been for as long as anyone could remember. What he was _not _was slow.

So all things considered, no one but Standwright was surprised when his forward lunge ran him headfirst into Jorn's extended arm. He rebounded hard and landed on his back.Jorn's footcame downon his breastplate before he could get up.

Standwright started to swing his sword arm. He screamed as a spear pinned it to the flagstones. The assassin Norry surveyed him thoughtfully, leaning hard on the shaft.

"Little bugger's pretty strong, Chief," he said.

"You're telling me," Jorn said. "I can't hardly hold him down."

"Got funny looking eyes," Sid the Enforcer said, stepping on the man's other arm before he could draw a dagger.

Vilbert Standwright's hat had fallen off. His eyes were a strange color, brown in one light and violet when he turned his head. He squirmed, still trying to get up.

"Vilbert Standwright no longer exists," Priest said.He limped forward to look down at the struggling man. "This is a banshee."

"You know about this?" Jorn asked. Other guards converged on the scene, hearing the screamed imprecations as the possessed man abandoned all pretense of normalcy.

"No. I saw a ghoul bring him down." The Elf looked down at the man, and his hair fell forward around his face. His hand on the staff seemed to be shaking. "We would not have run away, if had we thought any of the others still lived."

"What you want us to do with him?" Jorn asked.

Priest raised his head. "Give me a spear," he said.

"Chief, you sure you want to - " Sid started.

"Shut up, Sid. Somebody give him a spear."

An assassin obliged. The Priest hefted the weapon for a second, shifting his weight to his good leg.

"Lord Raveloe, please remove your foot."

Jorn obliged. Standwright shoved himself up off the ground immediately, his arm sliding up the gory shaft of the spear that pinioned him. The other hand reached forward, groping for the Elf's throat.

Priest looked at the man without expression. Then he thrust his arm forward.

The thing which had been Vilbert Standwright fell back with the spear through his throat. A violet light flared from his eyes.Then the body twitched, and was still. Blood spread out beneath the dead man's head as the shaft of the spear leaned slowly to one side.

"Stronger than you look," Jorn said.

"Most Elves are," Priest said. He leaned heavily on his staff, definitely shaking now. His face had not changed.

"That was pretty cold, Boss," Sid said.

"Yeah," Jorn said, fixing the enforcer with a hard look. "And if I ever get earwigged, I hope somebody does the same for me. Get the vial out of his belt and take it to Berrythorn. Tell him it's the same stuff Blitz found on the other bodies. You two," Jorn indicated two watching bandits. "Go get a stretcher."

Various assents came back from the bandits as they moved quickly to obey.

"What you want us to do with the body?" Jorn said. "We've got your friend in the black tent, too."

"If the bodies can be burnt, I think it is what they would prefer."

"Easier than burying them, here in the city," Jorn said. "We've got to move the camp tonight. We'll make the pyre and leave it here. That suit?"

"Yes," the Elf said, very quietly. Then Jorn moved to catch him as his knees buckled. The head of the staff clanged on the flagstones.

"Gee, Boss," Zig said, as Jorn hoisted the Elf for the second time in two days. "Looks like he's having a lousy week."

"No joke," Jorn said. "He's gotta be pretty tough, or he would have folded a lot sooner. Get his stick, will you? Oh, and I take back whatever I said about that ghoul. He was trying hard to tell us about Standwright, so I guess he's for real."

"It's 'cause he likes jerky," Zig said confidently. "Undeads always have to eat stuff raw. Good boy, Izzy." He gave the ghoul another scrap of dried meat. Izzyaccepted itpolitely,then consumed it with alacrity. Man and ghoul kept pace as Jorn turned to carry the Elf back toward the white tent.

"Why'd you name him Izzy?" Jorn asked.

"He's real smart, so I figure he used to be a wizard," Zig said. "We're in Dalaran, and there used to be wizards all over the place here."

"Wiiizzarrd," the ghoul said.

"And Bunny won't let me call him Whiz."

"Bunny's a pretty smart girl," Jorn said, hiding a smile.

"Smarter than me," Zig said complacently.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The Elf came to a few minutes later. Jorn sat on the supposedly-reinforced stool in Berrythorn's tent and waited. Behind him, the wizard and his apprentices bustled to and fro, already starting the tedious process of packing all the fragile apparatus of his trade for the evening's move.

Curiosity of a certain type is a survival characteristic in a bandit, who is likely to face imminent starvation if he never goes looking for new avenues of risk. Jorn was beginning to be very curious about Priest.

"Not from the Alliance," Jorn mused aloud, but quietly. "Not with the Elves, 'cause there ain't any here any more. Not organized, anyhow. So you gotta be from somewhere else." He thought this over for a second as the Elf began to stir. _I heard where there's Elves on Kalimdor, but they say they're tall, purple as a banshee._

_Course, the Shandlewighters say there's humans on Kalimdor, too. And they left before the Elves left the Alliance._

"You from Kalimdor, Priest?" Jorn asked, as the Elf opened his eyes.

"From the Theramore Isles." Priest sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the side of the cot. "I don't suppose it matters if you know."

"Not likely," Jorn said. "Don't even know where that is."

"They're off Kalimdor," Priest said. "It is clear you've already guessed that I came here as a spy."

"Doesn't bother me," Jorn said. "Can't be here to spy on _us_, 'cause nobody has got a reason to care."

"We were here to observe the Forsaken," Priest said. "But I see no way to complete that mission now. I am not sure we were ever intended to complete it."

"You oughta eat something," Jorn said. "I can't be following you around catching you all the time."

"I'm sorry about that," the Elf said. "I suppose I hoped I would not wake up. Everything I came here to do is finished, now."

Jorn rubbed the back of his neck, trying to remember.

"_Entweli vabit, kur na'een serel_," he said.

The Elf stared at him for a second. Then his shoulders began to shake. He pulled his good knee up to his chest and bent forward, laughing silently. By the time he stopped, there were tears in his eyes.

"Do you know what you just said?" he asked.

"No," Jorn said.

"'Stop talking, or I will beat you with fish,'" the Elf said.

"Fish?"

"And your accent is terrible."

"Yeah, well, I haven't had a thousand years to learn it," Jorn said. _It still worked._

"To be honest, neither have I," Priest said. "I was less than fully candid about my age when I volunteered to be trained."

"Yeah? How old are you?"

"Sixty-five," Priest said. Jorn raised his eyebrows. "Other than my teacher, you are the only one I have ever told."

"Sixty-five? I'd think you'd still be in nappies," Jorn said.

"Not exactly," the Priest said dryly. "Generally it is preferred that one gather a wider range of experience before seeking the training of a priest, but I did not wish to wait. No one can be certain of a long life, in this day."

"True enough," Jorn said. "Mirtib, you wanna hand that tray over here?"

"You were serious," the Elf said, as Jorn set the tray with soup, bread and tea on the cot beside him.

"Not cold yet, but it will be if you don't eat it soon," Jorn said.

"Do your men eat in front of their commander?" Priest asked, setting the tray across his knees.

Jorn snorted. "All the time. A bandit wants to stay a bandit, he can't keep regular hours. I'm gonna go make sure everyone's getting ready to go. Don't do anything fey before I get back."

"I wouldn't dare," the Elf said. "Thank you, Lord Raveloe."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Night was old by the time all of the camp had made the five-mile trip to its next location. (Jorn saw to it that Big Terl found himself on latrine duty both places, filling in and digging out.) The atrium was left with a few bits of glass, some ashes, and two bodies under canvas that lay on a tall stack of wood.

Jorn Raveloe stood with a jar of corn oil in his hands, facing the front of the atrium across the wood pile. The Priest held a torch. Blitzen Harryranks and a few others stood in the atrium's doorway. Dumb Zig and his ghoul stood quiet for once, watching.

The Elf nodded, without looking at the bandit. Jorn poured the oil over the bodies, careful not to get any on his hands. The Elf stepped forward and thrust the torch into the wood.

Flames licked up toward the pale moon. Priest watched the fire burn until there was no longer any possibility of the dead being raised. Jorn did not understand the prayers he spoke, but he hoped it did some good to the ones who could no longer hear it. _Or maybe they can. Who knows how all this Light stuff actually works?_

It was probably not as long as it seemed. Jorn kept his eyes away from the flame, wishing to keep his night vision.

"We better go," Jorn said quietly. "The Forsaken will come to see what's burning. We don't wanna get caught here with one door."

"Yes." Priest shook himself, then turned to limp around the burn pile toward the doorway. Jorn followed him, looking around warily. Blitzen also seemed on edge, spinning his staff end-over-end in his bony hands as he peered into the shadows.

"Anybody see anything?" Jorn asked as he came up to the group in the doorway.

"Izzy does," Zig said. The ghoul sat very still, only his head moving as he scanned the doorways and broken walls of the old street.

"Bet there's a shade," Sid the Enforcer said. "I'll bet it's watching to see where we go."

"Ssssshaaaade," the ghoul muttered.

"Where is it?" Jorn asked, dropping his voice to what he hoped was below the shade's hearing.

Izzy sat on his haunches, and one foreclaw suddenly lifted and pointed off to the left. Almost instantly, three spears converged on one point in midair.

They did not seem to hit anything. But all present heard the despairing howl as the shade evaporated.

"Good boy," Zig whispered. He rummaged in his belt pouch with one hand and came up with a treat for the ghoul. The three assassins went to retrieve their spears, footsteps soft and wary as they watched their surroundings.

"Okay, listen up," Jorn said quietly, when they were back. "Don't look at me, keep an eye open for whatever's out there. We're gonna go on a little tour of the ruins, 'cause I don't want to bring down any Undeads on the camp. Get me?"

Various nods greeted this remark. A rough formation coalesced around Jorn, with the dark wizard and Zig at the back, Norry and Sid at the front, and the two axe-wielding bandits split up to right and left of the Bandit Lord. They spread out slightly as Jorn gestured them across the street. He motioned the Priest to stick close.

_Have to try and block for him whenever we stop, 'cause he can't shadowmeld, _Jorn thought. The others must be thinking similarly, because when they first paused it was close to a wall. Jorn maneuvered the Elf between him and the surface, his large shadow hiding the other man's small one.

Priest managed to move fairly quietly. When they paused again, Jorn noticed he'd put canvas over the end of his staff. It made almost no noise on the pavings of broken Dalaran.

The group zigzagged through the ruined city for long minutes. Jorn occasionally gave directions with simple hand signals. He had learned them from his father, who had probably learned them from _his _father. Giving directions verbally on a night trip was a good way not to stay a bandit for long.

Then Norry pulled up sharply at an intersection of two streets, backing away from the open pavement. The group scrambled silently into cover around the base of a fallen statue on the corner. Jorn ended up lying almost flat behind the torso of what was probably meant to be a heroic human figure. Priest lay on his left, Blitzen on his right.

Jorn began calling up mana as he listened. _Not gonna get caught like last time._

Heavy footsteps sounded in the breathless silence. Then he caught the smell. From the corner of his eye, he saw Blitzen wrinkle his nose. _Abominations. _

Many more footsteps, some of them lighter and faster. _Ghouls and crypt fiends. No telling how many, cause they don't walk regular. _Jorn listened closely, but heard no _thwap-thwap _of gargoyle wings.

Then he swore under his breath as the sound came closer. Behind the footsteps came the creak and clatter of what could only be a pair of meat wagons. _Two wagons means two necromancers, or more. Sounds like they picked up the same trick as Priest, 'cause I don't hear any sticks tapping. _It was equally possible that they carried the new shorter staves, which did not touch the ground at all.

_Another big party. _He lay very still as the Undead began to pass their hiding place, listening to his heart beat and breathing shallowly. If there were no gargoyles, there was a good chance they would be passed over. Ghouls might pick up their scent, but the wind was blowing toward them, which was how he had picked up the stench of the abominations. Now he could smell mana as well, the sharp, metallic stink of the dark magic of the Undead. _Necromancers, for sure. Maybe a banshee or so, too._

_Musta caught the shade on his way back to report. _This was typical of Forsaken tactics, and the group did seem to be traveling toward the now-vacant atrium. _If a scout don't come back, send a bigger group. Makes plenty of sense, if you don't care how many bodies you lose._

The sound died gradually away. After a minute or so, Norry the assassin cautiously raised his head. He waved a hand at the rest of the party, and they began to move on again.

Jorn glanced at the Elf next to him as they crept on through the ageless night. Priest's pale face was composed in the thin light from the moon and stars. _He's got to be getting pretty numb, by now, _Jorn thought_. At least he's not panicking._

As he had this thought, he realized he had not even considered that the Elf might give their position away. Jorn had the feeling Priest was not the type to panic. _Be a basketcase long before this, otherwise. Maybe he is, for an Elf. It's hard to tell with them._

The bandits, the wizard and the Elf crept along beside the dark street. The track of black blood from the Undead traveled beside them for some hundred yards, the constant thin drip from abominations that were made in haste and poorly stitched.

Then they rounded the corner at the end of the block and ran straight into another group of Undead.

The two parties, each shocked by the other's soft approach, stared at one another for a second. Jorn, with the absolute stark clarity of one who knows something extremely bad is about to happen, counted six ghouls, two crypt fiends, a banshee, and one hovering gargoyle. _Ten of them. Nine of us. _If _we can trust Zig's ghoul._

Then the banshee hissed, "Die!" and swooped forward. Jorn threw up his shield, drew his sword, and swept soundlessly into the fray.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Jorn kicked sideways at a crypt fiend as it reached for Priest, dark magic spinning from its fingertips. He dodged neatly between two ghouls, feeling the golden light of his shield crackle as their bodies rebounded, and slashed at the banshee as she started to open her mouth. The shriek that resulted was earsplitting, but brief. The crypt fiend scrambled to its feet, and then there was a _pop. _A sheep stood in its place, blinking foolishly.

Jorn Raveloe spun in place, suddenly in a clear space. He saw everything around him dimly, through the bright wall of the shield.

The gargoyle dove toward Norry, who stood with a spear in his hand and a calculating look on his face. The dark wizard Blitzen now stood swinging his staff at a snarling, spitting ghoul as he waited for his mana to recharge. The two bandits were dealing with ghouls as well, swinging their hand axes as they tried to avoid the hooked claws.

Sid, with typical efficiency, had already skewered one ghoul and was busy trying to extract his weapon from between its ribs. And Dumb Zig…

Zig lay on his back, black magic tangling his arms and legs as he tried to scramble away from the remaining crypt fiend. Izzy crouched beside him, swaying slightly on his bent legs.

"Plaaaay deaaad," he snarled, and leaped. The crypt fiend shrieked as it was struck by a hundred pounds of whirling claws and teeth.

Jorn saw all this in an instant. Then he started for the two bandits. One was on the ground now, as the other tried to fend off two ghouls at once. One clung to his axe hand, biting deep into his arm, and then Jorn bore down on them like a steam tank on huge and silent feet.

His first sword blow decapitated a ghoul, and the carcass toppled onto the prone bandit. The other one ignored him, still clinging to Bedden's arm. Jorn gutted it. Black entrails poured onto the ground, sending up a stench, but the ghoul did not let go. Jorn seized its upper jaw with his free hand and yanked backwards. The bandit howled as drops of blood flew, but he was free.

The ghoul writhed, trying to clamp its jaws on Jorn's hand through his shield. He threw it to the ground and brought his foot down on its spine with his full weight. He heard a sickening _snap, _and the body lay still.

And there was Priest. He knelt beside the fallen man, golden light circling his eyes and hands as he reached out to shove the dead ghoul aside. The Undead seemed to crumble as he touched it, shriveling around its bones. Under it, the bandit lay with long gashes in his unarmored side and down his outer leg. They began to close even as Jorn watched, the edges creeping toward each other.

He looked around. His mana faded, the yellow filter of the shield dropping from his vision.

_Let's see. One man down, Bedden's got a bad arm. Sid's okay. Norry's okay, maybe some scratches on his spear arm. Looks like Zig's getting up. There's Blitzen. That leaves me and Priest._

The burst of loud sound had given way to sudden quiet. _Banshee's gone. Dead gargoyle, dead crypt fiend, three dead ghouls, two live sheep. That leaves…_

Two ghouls backed away from the bodies of their comrades. Izzy stalked slowly after them, swaying in the predatory manner of his kind.

"Wiiiizzard," he said.

One ghoul stopped retreating. It swayed its upper body in place, matching Izzy's motion.

"Wiiiizzard," it repeated. Then it turned and leaped on its companion. Izzy lunged after it, and the two of them quickly tore the throat from a very surprised ghoul.

Then Izzy licked the black blood from his teeth and turned and trotted over to Zig. The other ghoul followed. It mirrored Izzy's movements as he sat up, begging. Zig gave them each a piece of jerky once he was on his feet.

"That's the darndest thing I ever saw," Sid said.

"I heard where the Forsaken will take anybody they can get," Norry said. He was busy cleaning his spearpoint on the dead crypt fiend's wrappings.

"Well, that's pretty stupid," Dumb Zig said serenely.

"Come on, you lot," Jorn said. "We'd better get gone before the other ones come back to see what the noise was."

"Ready, Boss," Mal the Bandit said, climbing to his feet. Under his torn clothes, his skin was completely whole. Priest stood next to Bedden, one hand extended over his wounded arm. It finished growing together as Jorn watched.

"You're a pretty good guy to have around," Jorn said, as they started off again.

"It is kind of you to say so," the Elf said. As they went, he reached out toward Norry and healed his shoulder. Then he let the light die down as he concentrated on walking, limping along with his staff.

Behind the tight group, two ghouls herded two sheep along the flagstones of Dalaran. The new one tried to take a bite out of a plump leg as they went. Izzy swatted him.

"Jeerrrrrrky," he hissed, when the other ghoul looked puzzled.

"Wazzat?"

In answer, Izzy padded forward and nudged Zig's hand. He came back with a piece of dried meat. He jerked his head, tossing it to the other ghoul. It was neatly caught and devoured with a clack of big fangs.

A strange look entered the milky eyes of the ghoul. If it had possessed eyelids, it might have blinked. Revelation had descended on the decayed remnants of its brain.

"Okaaay," the new ghoul said. And the two of them padded on, companionably silent, as the moon sank in the sky over ruined Dalaran.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11:

Epilogue

Jorn Raveloe stood in the center of the new camp, watching the sun rise between tall pillars. This place had once been the court of a great mage's house. Untarnished metal gleamed on its broken spire where it rose to the North of where Jorn stood. A moss-choked fountain at one end of the enclosure still gave forth a thin trickle of water. It glittered as the early light fell on it.

_Sunrise. Looks like I get another day._

A low _tap-tap_ sounded behind him.

"Thought you'd be getting some sleep, Priest," Jorn said. "Been a long night."

"No longer than yours," the Elf said. He reached down idly to rub his bad knee. "I did not know that bandits could raise the divine shield."

"Never heard it called that," Jorn said. "But it's been in my family a long time. My old Dad had it, before the Scourge got him. And his Dad, too, but he never saw the Scourge. Got hung for a thief by the Alliance."

"My parents fell before the Scourge also," the Elf said. "In Quel'thalas. It was why I followed Jaina Proudmoore, and why I became a priest instead of settling down to have little Elves."

"Guess that makes – " Jorn's brain caught up with his tongue at this point. He turned and stared down at Priest. "_Have _little Elves?"

"I'm afraid my age was not all I lied about, when I joined the army," Priest said.

Jorn looked wonderingly on the skinny blond Elf. _Built like a toast rack, and legs_

_as stringy as any bandit in camp. Who'd guess?_

What he said was, "Got a pretty deep voice, for that."

"I always have," Priest said. "My mother did also."

"She as tough as you?" Jorn asked.

And Jorn Raveloe reached down and lifted a lame Elf up over his head, and looked at her golden hair in the morning sun, and laughed and laughed and laughed.

Strange tales are told in Dalaran.

_They say there was a bandit _

_With a face as seamed as any mine_

_Who went and wed a homely Elf._

_I understand they got on fine._

Now tell another, if you can.

THE END


End file.
